


gotta go for all we know

by lochTenderness (theseourbodies), theseourbodies



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Getting Together, Ice Skating, Love Confessions, M/M, Pining, Stealth dating, fancy dates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:34:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29257527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theseourbodies/pseuds/lochTenderness, https://archiveofourown.org/users/theseourbodies/pseuds/theseourbodies
Summary: Yaku Morisuke decides to stop playing dumb; Kuro Tetsurou gets his wish come true.
Relationships: Kuroo Tetsurou/Yaku Morisuke
Kudos: 18
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	gotta go for all we know

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lollipop_Panda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lollipop_Panda/gifts).



> Dear Lollipop_Panda-- 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this fun look into post-canon Kuroo and Yaku being tender and in love; I know I had a lot of fun writing this all out. I tried to incorporate some of the themes that I saw in your own writing (emotional vulnerability being the main one) and I made sure to include almost no angst-- just the good stuff. (There is a teenty, tiny bit of an angsty moment, but I hope you can forgive me for that.)
> 
> Much love this V-day, your mystery writer :)

Winter in the city is never as bad as it seems like it should be. The black storm clouds roll in occasionally, the wind likes to whip in between buildings and bite at unprotected noses; but as dark as the clouds can get, as cold as the wind can be, Tetsurou honestly only realizes the seasons have changed when the young and the beautiful of Tokyo religiously transition from S/S to F/W. Tetsurou's neither all that young anymore, nor—if the man he's waiting on is to be believed—all that beautiful, but he's still a slave to that same fashion; he'd switched to his heavier wool coats just at the beginning of this very week. 

Speaking of his missing date.... Tetsurou pops the collar of his favorite—and the least flashy—of those coats a little more aggressively than he needs to, annoyed. The clouds have decided to make good on their ever-present promise of snow, which Tetsurou hadn't anticipated, and Yaku is _late._

The swish of his coat as it settles—just because it's his least flashy doesn't mean he hasn't styled it appropriately, so it's hanging open to show of the nice cut and color of his warmest wool slacks and the contrasting coat with its subtle buttons—gets in the way of one of those self-same fashionable youths. The woman doesn't exactly glare at him, but she does squint pointedly as she glides away, trying to keep the—only slightly! --damp hem from whacking her right in the hosiery. Tetsurou tips his head in an apology and tries to huddle into a more compact pillar against the natural shelter of the sidewalk sign he’s been resisting the urge to lean against. 

“Still making plenty of friends, looks like.” 

Kuroo wheels around at the comment, already looking down with a grin. “Well, well, well Yakkun, good thing you spoke up or I never would have noticed you—oof!” 

"Yeah alright, keep talking, bastard,” Yaku mutters, shaking his hand out subtly. Kuroo notes with triumph that even his annoyance hasn't managed to wipe the huge smile off Yaku's face. The growing bruise under his ribs certainly hasn't managed to put a damper on Kuroo's good mood, either. 

“Just how long we’re you going to keep me waiting, demon-san?” he demands, already stepping out to join Yaku in the flow of light foot traffic. Yaku steps in time with him with an annoyed sound. 

“Took me longer than I thought for my car to get to me,” Yaku says, pointedly unembarrassed by anything he’s just said. 

Kuroo snickers as they make their way the short distance to their restaurant du jour. “Oh, so you weren’t late, your _driver_ was late. Listen to you, Mr. Big Man, Mr. On-Top—is this what they call a ‘Napoleon’-- uUmph, Yakkun, please, have some consideration for this old man’s kidneys.” 

Yaku does not looked concerned with the prospect of Kuroo peeing blood, leveling an unimpressed look at his companion as they take a moment in the shelter of the little pop-up tent covering the restaurant doorway. “Why would I respect your kidneys? And besides, I don’t see an old man here, so they’re fair game.” 

“Aw, thank-- wait.” 

They bicker softly back and forth all the way to their reserved table, with only a few minutes pause to let the hostess decide if they were worthy of their reservation or not. Apparently, they pass muster, and they’re whisked off to their table only a moment after she finds Tetsurou’s name on the list. 

“This is pretty nice for a casual night out, pal,” Yaku says when they’re seated, and their host is out of earshot. “Trying to tell me something?” 

Yes, but probably not what Yaku was expecting, Tetsurou thinks dryly. He takes a sip of water for his suddenly dry throat and bluffs like his life depends on it. “Did I say casual, Yakkun?" 

“You said a night out, stupid, I thought you just meant to a local place for a drink, not—all this.” 

For a man with his own hired driver and key card access to a hotel Kuroo had only been privileged enough to see the inside of once, during a business event, Yaku had always been sensitive to other people’s excess on his behalf. Or maybe, Tetsurou thinks suddenly, he’s just not that comfortable thinking of a nice dinner out without thinking of it as a date. He squashes the thought ruthlessly and just grins. 

“Worried you're underdressed?” He shouldn’t be, of course; barring the fact that Yaku could probably pull off sackcloth with the force of his personality alone, he looks very nice tonight. He's even in a suit. 

"Next to you? Always,” Yaku responds, easy, thoughtless. He grins a little when Tetsurou's glances up at his in shock. “Oh, come on; you know damn well that you look nice right now. You always do.” 

_Well, dress for the job you want!!_ Tetsurou's brain supplies, only a little hysterically. Embarrassed and not quite sure why, he runs a hand down his tie and tilts his head in awkward acknowledgement. Embarrassingly, he starts to sweat. 

“Well. Well, you too, Yakkun.” 

“Morisuke.” 

"What?” 

“You know my name, Tetsurou. You've seen me cry and you've met my parents, I think we're close enough that you can just call me Morisuke.” 

He physically cannot look Yaku in the eye after that, running a hand through his hair as his gaze skitters away to land on the carpet, a nearby guest, a passing waiter. From the corner of his eye, he sees Yaku lift his water glass and set it back down, where he fiddles with it. It's settling, to know that Yaku is nervous, too, even if it's most likely for wildly different reasons than Tetsurou. 

“Don't forget, I've also seen you in your kitty paw boxers, Yak—M-Morisuke.” 

Yaku—Morisuke doesn't bother taking the out. His voice is warm when he chuckles at the memory. He has the barest traces of laugh lines just starting to frame his eyes. “Yes, there's that too.” 

The quiet that follows feels like the edge of a precipice, but before anyone can push anyone else, their waiter arrives with a selection of hot towels, drink lists, and a very convenient break for Tetsurou's shattered fucking nerves. 

(〃 ω 〃) 

The meal is excellent; once Yaku decides to stop being so unnerving, the company is even better. It usually is, between the two of them. As they talk, and not for the first time, Tetsurou finds himself wishing he had figured himself out sooner. It's not like it had taken a huge leap to connect the dots between always wanting Yakkun to pay attention to him, even if they were yelling, and liking Morisuke in a way that he might not be able to easily get over. In a way that he might never recover from, actually. All of this might have been easier to deal with when they had both been young and impulsive, high on the game and not much else. But Tetsurou had taken a little too long to realize, so here he is: stealthily dating the object of his usually long-distance affection as thoroughly as he could in the time he was allowed. 

Morisuke loves that Tetsurou is a PR guy; it's both hilarious and useful to him. The first half of their dinner not-date is just dedicated to a steady but good natured grilling about the volleyball idiots that Tetsurou can more easily keep track of than Morisuke can. Tetsurou is halfway through the latest incident between Bokuto and the entirety of Bokuto's old team when they receive their meals, and he cuts himself off. When they both resurface sometime later, he grins over their devastation of plates and bowls. 

“Hungry, Ya—Morisuke?” 

Yaku grins, bright eyed, around the lip of his high-ball glass; Tetsurou is vaguely glad that he doesn't seem to know how the overall effect makes Tetsurou melt a bit. “Always. That's why I like going out with you, you know, we've both kept our appetites. Well,” he says, smile going crooked. “One of the reasons.” 

“Haa? And what's the other, Yakkun?” Tetsurou leers, leaning in. If the move happens to draw his shirt tighter against his shoulders, well, he's only human. 

“Well, I was going to say something about your surprisingly good company, but now I'm not so sure.” 

Tetsurou perks up almost against his will. “Aw, that's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me, Morisuke. If I'm on my best behavior will you say it again?” 

“No,”Morisuke says immediately, but before Tetsurou can collapse he continues, “But I might tell you something even better if you manage that.” 

Tetsurou forgets sometimes that Morisuke can sound so incredibly soft, but even when they had been kids Morisuke had managed to offer everyone both the carrot and the stick with the same conviction. He swallows. 

“Yeah? And what's that?” 

Yaku leans in closer; his hand, wrapped again around the base of his glass spins the glass idly, that same tell-tale fidget. “Guess you'll need to find out.” 

While Tetsurou is still trying to recover from that whole— _performance,_ Morisuke calls for their check and turns a more familiar grin on his companion. “Ok, so that was dinner. You promised me something really fun, Tetsurou, so fess up: what's next?” 

Tetsurou grins and pretends that the pause Morisuke takes while finishing his drink is because he's as affected by it as Tetsurou had been by his. 

“Let's just say it's a good thing you brought a coat, huh?” 

(〃 ω 〃) 

They take Morisuke's car, because Tetsurou has learned to take advantage of the resources available to him ruthlessly. Morisuke laughs at him when he asks, but he calls the car anyway. They spend the drive thoroughly testing the driver's patience, Tetsurou thinks, quizzing each other ceaselessly about the everything that they can think of—the brand name sponsoring Lev's latest ad campaign, exactly how old—to the day, though Tetsurou boasts he has it to the hour—Nobiyuki's oldest dog is, Kenma's latest investment project. 

They've slipped into a more serious talk about team Japan's prospects in 2021 when they arrive at their destination and Yaku breaks off to stare, slack jawed and interested with his face practically pressed to the window glass. Tetsurou grins at him when Morisuke looks back at him. 

“Surprise, Morisuke,” he says, more gently than he means to; he can't regret it when it makes Morisuke's mouth go soft, genuinely touched. 

It's noticeably colder than it had been even outside the restaurant when they step out of the car, but Tetsurou doesn't think that Morisuke notices that much. They could have gone to an indoor ice rink, Tetsurou had seen the promotional pictures for this place, with its sparkling trees and gentle lighting, and he'd been hooked. Watching Morisuke smile helplessly in the fairy light coming from the rink, he knows it was a good instinct to follow. Light has always, always loved his friend, has warmed his skin golden, turned the toffee of his eyes molten. His strong, compact little body is softened by casual cut of his long coat and the line of his pants. Accented by the soft cloud of his own breath in the cold, touched by gold, Morisuke goes from an ordinary handsome to something that Tetsurou thinks he might be a little afraid to touch. 

Swallowing hard at the thought, Tetsurou says, “Want to give it a go?” He's damn proud that his laugh when Morisuke nods frantically almost sounds natural. 

(〃 ω 〃) 

They skate around for what feels like hours; he's not sure how long they actually spend, shushing along and gently mocking each other's technique. There's an enormous tree in the center of the rink decorated with precisely placed bobbles and lights that make the whole thing look delicately frosted. When they finally make their way away from the protection of the rink walls, they get close enough to the tree that Morisuke can sneak his hand out and run his fingers along the prickle of the needles and laugh at the sensation. Inside, Tetsurou is a quivering pile of happy goo: at the success of the date, at the simple, honest delight Morisuke isn't hesitating to show him. Before they had graduated and started their lives in the real world, Tetsurou had dragged all the starters and most of the second string out to an indoor rink; his whole team, so graceful and careful on the parquet had gone half feral on the ice. It had been one of the best outings he had ever experienced, and he had thought—he had hoped to capture that spirit again even with just two Nekoma alums instead of the whole team. 

Watching Morisuke nearly trip and then grab for Tetsurou, giggling wildly, Tetsurou mentally pats himself on the back for a job well done. 

They manage a few extremely clumsy spins just with the benefit of centrifugal force—Tetsurou at the center and Morisuke grinning indiscriminately at the ice under his skates, the tree, people skating around them, Tetsurou himself. Tetsurou, helpless, can only grin back as they come to a stumbling stop, still hand in hand. It seems impossible to let Morisuke go after that, and so Tetsurou just-- doesn't. They skate along some more, catching their breaths, their gloved hands keeping each other close. 

In the end, it's a matter of endurance; unlike his appetite, Tetsurou's stamina can't quite measure up to who he had been before some ten years of a full time office gig. 

Morisuke, of course, notices immediately, but he only gives Tetsurou a little shit about it. He skates a shaky circle around Tetsurou, showing off when Tetsurou says, “Alright, alright, how about we get some scalding hot chocolate and let this old man rest his tired body, huh?” 

Morisuke rolls his eyes. “I told you: there are no old men here that I can see. And besides that,” Morisuke smirks, glancing at Tetsurou from under his lashes. It's terribly devastating, which distracts Tetsurou just enough from the creeping since of impending embarrassment. “I'd be careful who you're calling an old man when you're out in public with a face like this." He gestures to his own face. "Might give people the wrong idea.” 

Tetsurou squawks, outraged, but when he swats at Morisuke, Morisuke is already whizzing away, laughing so hard he wheezes. 

They waddle over to the little café and then to the heaters to claim space on a bench, still sniping playfully at one another. It’s early enough in the night that they’re not fighting bigger groups for space, but Tetsurou sits close anyway. Morisuke doesn’t make any comment, just raises his eyebrows with a grin. 

“It always amazed me how you could get so cold when you’re that big,” he says. At this point in the night, it takes everything in Tetsurou just to smile, tight-lipped. 

They sip at their drinks—something fruity and spicy for Morisuke, who had a sensitivity to chocolate that Tetsurou forgave himself for not remembering only because it was a fairly recent development. 

“Do you think people really think— _that_ —when they see us together?” Tetsurou finally asks. He’s not sure why it matters. What people think of them shouldn’t be more important than just the two of them, together, but—the idea that people would see them together and disapprove for reasons other than the obvious is disturbing. 

Morisuke blinks at him, honestly surprised. “That we’re dating? Well, yeah. We’re not very compatible, looks wise.” 

It takes... a while for Tetsurou to process that. Forget _strangers_ thinking they didn’t look good together, it had never occurred to him to wonder if _Yaku_ would think so as well. He keeps a lid of the flash of anger that licks into his belly carefully.

“I meant that you were some kind of sugar baby,” he manages to say lightly. “You really think we’re, what? Incompatible?” 

Morisuke frowns. It’s the first frown that Tetsurou’s managed to put on his face all night. 

“That isn’t what I said, Tetsurou.”

But Tetsurou can’t quite hear him, can’t quite register the negative at first. He pouts down at his drink, biting down the disappointment doing its best to turn toxic on his tongue. It isn’t like he would have treated Yaku differently if he had known all this up front, he just maybe could have protected his own self a little better. 

“Tetsurou!” Morisuke snaps, like it’s not the first time he’s called for Tetsurou. 

“So, what did you mean, then?” Tetsurou snaps back, unable to stop it. He doesn’t want their incredibly good time to dissolve into one of their increasingly rare, real fights, but he doesn’t know how to stop it now. He doesn't know how to misplace the hurt like he usually can. 

Instead of rising to meet Tetsurou’s temper, Morisuke raises both his gloved hands to Tetsurou’s cheeks, holding his face gently and drawing him closer to Morisuke in the same move. 

“I’m saying,” he says, warm and soft, “that I’m in love with you, you silly bastard. We just also to happen to look like a comedy duo sometimes when we’re just with one another, do you understand?” 

Tetsurou stares, slack jawed, wondering. “What?” 

Morisuke rolls his eyes and brings Tetsurou’s captured face even closer to his. Their first kiss tastes like toffee apple and the particular taste of frigid air. It snatches all the breath out of Tetsurou’s lungs; it wipes every thought, good, bad, or otherwise, right out of his head for the entire time that Morisuke’s mouth is pressed gently to his. They’re kissing. Yakkun, Morisuke, is kissing him, Tetsurou. 

“I know I let you think that they were pretend dates,” Morisuke tells him gently when he finally pulls away. He doesn’t go far, which is the only reason that Tetsurou allows it. “But the last few times I’ve visited, I haven’t seen them that way. I hope it’s ok, that it took me this long to be sure.” Morisuke kisses him again, a flurry of butterfly soft presses against Tetsurou's cheek, the tip of his nose, gently on his bottom lip. “I hope you’re as sure as I am,” he jokes, and Tetsurou only hears the tremble in his voice because he’s known Morisuke for so long, has always listened to him so carefully. 

“I am,” Tetsurou says, not immediately, but sure. “I promise I am, Morisuke, no matter where you are.” 

Morisuke winces, which is the opposite of what Tetsurou wanted, but he gets it; it’s hard to forget that there’s a time limit to what they’re doing here. It’s hard not to think about the time limit and not think about it as an expiry date. 

“Later,” Morisuke requests, almost begging with his big eyes, the soft crimp of his mouth. “For now, you’re sure, and I’m sure. That’s what I wanted, Tetsurou.” 

Tetsurou lets himself shiver and drop his head to Morisuke’s shoulder; regardless of where they go from here, for at least the rest of Morisuke’s time here he can indulge in all the silly little things that he’s been wanting but hadn’t been stupid enough to really hope for. 

Above them, it starts to snow again, the looming clouds dusting down. This far from Tokyo central, the snow is clean and white. 

“Say it again, please,” he whispers into Morisuke’s good, warm coat. This close, Morisuke’s chuckle rumbles up through Tetsurou’s whole body. 

“I love you,” he says. “I’m sure.” 


End file.
